


Sticky Situation

by lastingopposite



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Bondage, Sexual Experimentation, Teen Romance, Web Shooters, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastingopposite/pseuds/lastingopposite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She almost feels trapped there, against the wall, and it gives her a small thrill of danger. He's so fast, so strong, that if she wanted to escape, she couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to LadySilver for the beta!

Peter presses Gwen against her bedroom wall, the posters crinkling when she shifts. His breath is hot against her throat, and she pulls her long strands of hair out of the way with one hand to make it easier for him.

"Mm," he agrees, and lays a soft kiss in the hollow of her throat.

She runs her other hand from his waist, up his chest, still covered in spandex, past his shoulder and up his arm. Her fingers scrape against the device on the wrist of his suit, but she continues upward, intertwining her fingers with his. He responds by pressing closer, his mouth traveling up the side of her jaw.

She almost feels trapped there, against the wall, and it gives her a small thrill of danger. He's so fast, so strong, that if she wanted to escape, she couldn't. She struggles in his arms then, whining a soft complaint.

He steps back immediately, a look of worry on his face. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes flick to her wrist, still upraised against the wall.

She lowers her eyes, embarrassed. "No, I was just... thinking what it must be like to be one of the criminals you catch." Her eyes glance at his web shooters. "Unable to move."

He takes another step back, rubbing a hand through his messy shock of hair. "Oh god, I'm sorry, Gwen." He shifts back and forth. "I-I was so happy to see you after patrol that I didn't even think about that, I'm sorry..." He stumbles back and sits on a chair a few feet away.

"Peter."

He lifts his chin, shooting her a mortified look.

"I didn't say..." She licks her lips nervously. "... that I didn't like it."

His face transforms from apology to confusion. "You...?"

"The thought was kind of... thrilling. Let's say that I'm a... purse snatcher or something," she continues, thinking aloud, pacing away from him. She grabs her purse from the side table and clutches it to her chest. "You see me running away from the scene of the crime."

A smile is beginning on his lips. "You're serious about this." It's halfway between a question and disbelief.

She shrugs. "Just go with it." She pivots on one heel. "I dash around the corner into an alley. I'm trapped." She puts up her fists. "Spider-Man!" she says, overdramatically. "You'll never take me alive!"

Peter raises one heavy eyebrow.

Gwen gestures impatiently. "I have a--a secret weapon.” Gwen digs in her purse and finds a small bottle of hair spray. Aiming it at him with a flourish, she cries, “Pest Control!”

“What is that?” he taunts, getting into the role. “Bug spray? Geez...” He saunters closer, and she marvels at the transformation in his demeanor. “You guys always get this wrong. I’m an arachnid, not an insect.”

She holds the can up higher. "I'm warning you!"

He smirks. "Please." Raising his wrists, he pretends to spray her with webbing. "Thwip! Thwip! You're trapped!"

Gwen does not act as if she were trapped at all. Instead, she freezes in place, in her best villain pose.

Peter tilts his head. "I webbed you."

Gwen glances at her hands. "I don't see any webbing."

"I said, 'Thwip, thwip.' Um, that's the sound."

Breaking character for a moment, she murmurs out of the side of her mouth, "Do it for real, you know, like I'm an actual thief."

"Uh, um..." He's clearly not sure she's serious.

"I'm serious." He still looks worried. She drops her pose and becomes Gwen again. "I really want you to, see what it's like." Then she lifts the bottle and snarls, "I'll exterminate you, Spider-Man!"

His expression is somewhere between a smile and a puzzled frown. "Okay." 

Then with blinding speed she finds herself propelled backward into the wall, the spray bottle flying. One wrist, then the other, hits the wall, covered in webbing. The bottle rolls to a stop at Peter's boots.

"Whoa."

He grimaces. "Sorry?"

She tries to move her wrists. They are completely immobile, no matter how she struggles. The thrill from before doubles, centered low.

She lets out a breath. "That is... amazing."

He seems relieved that she isn't hurt. "They do say that about me," he replies with a smirk.

"How do you remove it?" Her inner scientist takes over. "No, wait. How did you make it?"

"I adapted it from an Oscorp formula. I can show you on my computer, later. The shooters are all mine, though." He walks over to start to free her. "I can either tear it off, or it’ll dissolve on its own after a while."

As he gets close, she whispers, "Leave it on. For now."

That eyebrow goes up again, checking to see if she's joking. 

She nods her consent. "Let's continue where we left off -- before all of this."

He leans down gently to kiss her, but she responds with ferocity. She takes his lower lip between her teeth and sucks it, drawing a moan from him. His tongue slides in, moving across hers, and it's her turn to moan. She wants more, she wants to put her hands all over him, and she can't. Somehow that makes the fire in her rise even higher.

He begins to trail kisses down her jaw. "Peter..." 

He lifts his head to look at her, lips moist and red.

"Could you...?" She drops her eyes to the buttons of her blouse. Her heart suddenly races as he follows her eyes. Can he hear that?

Whether he can or not, his eyes darken and he gives her the tiniest nod. They've never done anything more than make out, hands deliberately above the clothes. He's been too polite, she's been too timid. But something about this situation is heating her blood, making her feel a little reckless, a little less like daddy's compliant angel. And anything that will let her step down from the pedestal she suspects Peter has placed her on is a good thing.

She sighs as he uses his gloved hands to work at the buttons. They stick a little before coming free, and he takes a step back to remove them. "Can you leave them on?" she asks.

He doesn't question her this time, just goes back to working his way to the bottom button. But when he sees the front clasp of her bra, he hesitates.

She bites her lip and nods. "That, too."

To her surprise, he takes his time with it, sliding a finger along the swell of one breast, and then the other, tracing the seams and the clasp almost reverently. Gwen closes her eyes at the sensation. She hopes he won't lose his nerve.

Then he pops the clasp in one swift move, freeing her breasts from confinement. She tilts her head back and sighs. He gently shifts the lacy cup to the side, and fits his hand around one breast. He pauses there, long enough for Gwen to open her eyes.

The look of wonder in his face would be almost funny, considering the amazing things he's seen these last few months, were it not for the fact that she's feeling something similar. But she wants his mouth on her, and _now_. She arches into his hand, hoping he will get the hint.

He obliges, and she shudders as his lips close around her nipple. He sucks and laves it with his tongue, and sensation flows directly to her groin. She lets out a throaty moan. Thank god her mother took the boys out somewhere tonight.

He moves to the other breast, growing more confident at her vocal encouragement. His fingers work one breast while his mouth takes care of the other. The dual sensation of the textured gloves and his wet tongue is escalating her arousal so fast that she growls, "Peter...!"

He stops abruptly, misunderstanding the tone of her voice. "You want to stop?"

She smiles at him. "The opposite. But..." She's ready to use her hands now, on him. "Can you take off the webbing?"

He nods, and with a couple of swift tugs her hands are free. She rubs at her wrists for a moment, then places her palms flat on his chest. "My turn."

He grins. "Okay." He steps back to pull the top half of his uniform over his head. She can still see the scars from his battle with the Lizard, though they've healed faster than any normal human's wounds would. He lifts his hands, still gloved. "On or off?"

"On," she begins, but then changes her mind. "No. Off." She holds out her hand to take them, and he places them in her palm. Slyly, she asks, "Do you think they would fit me?" 

"What?" He looks a little shocked.

She works her smaller hand into one of them and holds it up for him to see. The red fabric conforms to her fingers, looking oddly natural. Then she places her gloved hands on his chest and pushes him onto her bed. "I did say it was _my_ turn."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on the first chapter! This one finishes out the mechanical/technological theme and starts to transition into (what I hope is) the final chapter.

As he hits the bed, Peter stares back up at Gwen, bare-chested and just a little surprised. Perhaps a little amused, too. She crooks a smile back at him. She can't remember seeing him with any other girls at school before they started dating, but that doesn't mean anything. She hadn't really noticed him outside of science class, not until the day he stood up for that kid at the lunch tables.

Well, she hadn't had many boyfriends, either. A couple of dates here or there, which always went well until they found out she was the daughter of the New York City chief of police. So with Peter, she'd skipped straight to meet the parents. If that scared him off, like all the others, at least she could move on quickly.

Not only was Peter not scared, he'd baited and argued with her father, kissed her and revealed his secret, all in one night. Maybe that's why she is unafraid now, standing here above him, shirt and bra undone. He'd already bared everything to her - metaphorically.

Gwen pulls the gloves farther down her arms in a slow, deliberate motion, one then the other. "Scoot back," she tells him, somewhere between a request and a demand. 

He nods and moves back until his back is flush against the headboard. "Like this?"

She nods once, and then climbs onto the bed to straddle him. As she does, her skirt rides up her thighs. His eyes drift down, and she watches him swallow once, hard. His attention just increases the warm, insistent heat between her legs.

But she gets back to business quickly. "Now, how does this work?" She studies the gloves, the LED indicators for the web shooters, but they are unlit. There seems to be some sort of lever in the bottom of the palm. She aims, presses...

Nothing happens.

She tries it again. Still nothing. "I'm usually pretty good with gadgets, but..." she says, grimacing.

He points at the top half of his suit, discarded on the bedpost. "That's because part of it is missing." 

Gwen turns to lift it up and studies one of the sleeves. Embedded at the end of it is another device, similar to a wrist watch. Instead of a clock face, there is a small cartridge nestled within the gears below the clear plastic. "So I have to put on the shirt, too?" She frowns. “Maybe this wasn’t the best id--”

“No, wait,” he says, and starts to reach for the suit. But then he stops. “If that’s okay...” His eyes glint with amusement. “...Miss Stacy.”

She laughs and hands it over. “They’re detachable,” he explains, and with nimble fingers, he removes the shooters from the suit. "You know, just in case." He wriggles out from under to sit beside her. Gently lifting one of her hands, he pushes back the gloves to expose her bare wrists. "Plus, it's easier to replace the suit than the shooters." While he talks, he unconsciously strokes the delicate area where her wrist meets her palm with two fingers. Her eyes want to flutter closed. His fingertips have an even more interesting texture than his gloves had. Is this what helps him stick to the walls? 

She manages to keep her eyes open to watch him strap the shooter to her right wrist. "Let's start with one," he says, and aligns the glove over the shooter, snapping the LCD indicator into place. It spins to life, glowing and red.

He shifts to sit behind her, and without asking, his hand strokes down the underside of her arm, raising it slowly. Even over the sleeve of her blouse, his touch sends tingles up to her shoulder. His fingers curl lightly around her wrist, as if she were as delicate as a glass beaker, his breath is hot beside her ear. "Now aim..." 

She moves her arm slowly to the right, and he keeps his hand in place, helping to guide her to a good target. She settles on gray stuffed pony, perched on the top of one of her bookshelves. “Is this good?”

She can feel him nod, his cheek brushing against her hair. “Now bring your two middle fingers back to press the mechanism...” His own fingers curl around hers to press down and release. There’s a tiny kickback as the web shoots out. Her pony’s proud face is covered in webbing, and just that much.

“It’s so accurate,” she says, impressed.

His chest shifts against her back at her words of praise, and she’s reminded again that he’s shirtless. “I had to practice,” he says. “A lot.” He laughs, an adorable, self-effacing sound. “You try.” He removes his hand from her wrist, and she misses the contact.

But she’s so curious to try the shooters for herself. She tries to imitate Peter’s careful aim, the way he pressed his fingers against the trigger, firmly but quickly. But her fingers cramp up and her wrist twists and the webbing splatters the entire wall - three feet to the left and above the pony, smack into the middle of her Ryan Gosling poster. 

She grimaces. “Sorry, Ryan.”

He rubs her shoulder consolingly. “Like I said, it takes practice. I was scraping webbing off every surface in my room, until I realized it would dissolve after a few hours. Do you want to try again?”

She turns in his arms to face him. “Maybe later,” she says, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “When I’m...” she looks down at his bare chest, “...less distracted.”

He blushes. “You’re pretty distracting yourself.” His hand slips beneath her open blouse and travels upward from her waist to her breast. It feels incredible. 

She stops him, as much as she never wants that feeling to end. “Just a minute.” As he watches, she removes the gloves and the shooters and sets them aside. His eyes widen and he seems to hold his breath as she removes her blouse and bra as well. She looks into his eyes, and holds them, making sure he knows she wants this. “That’s better. Now we’re even.”

The room goes still. For a long moment, neither one of them moves. Gwen wonders if she misjudged him. Maybe he’s not ready for this...

Then his mouth is on hers and he’s bearing her down onto the bed. His hands explore her with abandon, as if he’d only been waiting for permission. She arches into his touch, finally allowing herself to close her eyes and enjoy the sensations he's arousing. His fingers are amazingly deft, stroking in one motion, featherweight and tingling the next. It's amazing to her that he can touch her with such care using the same hands that fought off Connors' huge mutant lizard form.

And his mouth works in tandem with his hands, lavishing attention first on one breast, then the other. Her toes curl inside her stockings and her breathing gets ragged.

Though it's hard to concentrate while he explores her, she does the same, fingers tracing his pectorals, his abdomen, his back muscles. He shudders under her touch, sighing out her name as he takes a breath from kissing her. Maybe she doesn't have Peter's abilities, but she can still make New York City's newest superhero shiver and moan.

She focuses on different ways to use her fingers - smooth caresses, scraping her nails from his waist to his shoulders, lightly running her fingertips down his chest and arms. She can feel the tracery of scars over the expanse of his skin, not only the remains of the claw marks she had once tended, but some wounds barely healed and others that seem much older. Someday, maybe soon, she’s going to ask him to tell her the stories of each of these scars. 

She follows one of them down his abdomen, all the way to his waistline. It crosses... below the spandex. What had done that? She must make a sound of concern, because he lifts his head from kissing her to ask, “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, “it’s just that you really get scratched up out there, don’t you?”

He nods. "Part of the job. No pain, no bad guys off the streets, examining their life choices in jail.” He smirks. “Or however that saying goes.” 

She appreciates that he can make light of it, but she’s has to know. “It’s just that there are scars and wounds...” Her eyes travel down to his waistline. “...everywhere.”

His mouth opens in a little ‘oh’ as he realizes what she means. He blushes almost as brightly as the color of his suit. “N-not _everywhere_.”

She tilts her head. “Oh? I’m not sure I believe you.” Feeling suddenly bold, her finger retraces the scar downward...

He stops her just as she gets to the place where the spandex begins. “You need scientific proof?” he teases.

“How can I test my hypothesis...” She removes her hand from his grasp, and he allows it. Her fingers start to wriggle beneath the fabric. “...without a little experimentation?”


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen's fingers slide a little lower beneath his waistband and Peter shudders, his eyes closing. Her lips turn up in a tiny smile and she tries to work her fingers a little lower beneath the spandex.

The fabric fights her; there is almost no give. She frowns with effort as she tries again. She can't get more than half of her hand inside. Then with a sigh, she stops.

Peter's eyes snap open. "Why did you stop?"

"It's this spandex." She pulls her fingers free and shakes them out. "It's so tight."

With a smirk, he says, "I seem to remember you liked that."

She colors, but fires back, "Okay, okay, you're _very_ nice to look at. But what's the point, if I can't touch!"

"There's an easy solution," he says. He sits back on his heels, holding her eyes with his. But as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of his uniform pants, her eyes drift down unintentionally to his crotch, where his erection is now clearly straining against the fabric. When she realizes what she's doing, she looks up again, guiltily. 

"Gwen," Peter says softly. "It's okay. You can watch. I want you to."

"Okay." 

She lowers her eyes again, and with deliberate care, he peels the spandex downward. An inch at a time, more of his skin is revealed, including more of the scar she had noticed. The heat between her legs rises. Then _he_ stops, just before uncovering... everything.

"Why'd you stop?" she teases, looking back up into his face. Her eyes cut downward again. "I still haven't seen where that scar ends."

He smiles again, and millimeter by millimeter, he uncovers himself. His... penis. She feels silly for even mentally stumbling over the word, but that _is_ the anatomically correct term for it, after all. And none of the other euphemisms seem... right. If they’re going to do this, she should get used to it. 

The scar on the side -- she lets out a surprised breath -- tapers off only an inch or so from his shaft. And then he quickly peels off his pants completely, waiting for her to make the next move. She's a little shocked at just how much she wants to touch him, to continue to trace the scar to its ending point, to hold his penis in her hand. Her fingers lift out of her lap, tentatively, then drop.

"Go ahead."

"I want to..." She’s not sure what is stopping her. Nerves?

"But?"

She gives herself a mental shake. Gwen rarely loses her nerve over anything. If she can face an enormous mutant lizard-man, she can face her naked boyfriend. She pats the blankets. “Lie beside me.”

As soon as he complies, she runs a hand down his smooth chest, across his abdomen, to the line of hair that trails from his navel downward. Then with two gentle fingers, she strokes down the length of his erection. He pulls in a sharp intake of breath. 

His reaction spurs her on. She curls her fingers around his penis and pumps her hand slowly down, then back up.

As she enjoys the feel of his smooth skin beneath her fingers, she watches his face. He lies there still, eyes closed, his breathing hitching when she increases the speed, or gently passes her thumb over the head. His expression goes from slack to tense to something akin to pain, but the soft sounds he is making tell her otherwise.

She enjoys seeing his reactions, how lightly running her nails along the shaft makes him suck in air, how wrapping one leg around his thigh as she strokes makes him moan her name softly. The law of cause and effect in action.

She's not sure what causes him to open his eyes, but suddenly he does, and blinks when he sees how closely she is watching him.

"You like this?" she asks, and combines a squeeze with a speed increase.

“Y--yes.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, showing his teeth.

The heat of her arousal is getting almost unbearable. She needs his hands on her, stat. She opens her mouth to say something, but decides she would rather show him.

As she continues to stroke him with one hand, she caresses the other down his shoulder, bicep and forearm. Then she lifts his hand and places it between her thighs. The mere touch sends a flare upward. 

She moves her lips close to his ear. "Take off my tights. I'm a little... busy."

He simply nods. He slides his hand down to the crotch of her tights, and... pulls. They rip away from her as if they were specially made to do so. 

She lets go of him with a gasp, and his eyes fly open. "Gwen, are you okay? I didn't mean to--"

"No, I was just surprised," she assures him after a moment. "I didn't expect you to rip them off my body."

He cringes. "My fingers..." He lifts one hand and she can see the cream-colored lycra is still attached. "...are really sticky." He shakes his head. "I can usually control it better. I haven't done that since, like, the first day I got my powers."

"Accidentally attached your fingers to something, or," she raises an eyebrow, "accidentally tore off clothing?"

“Um... no comment?”

She laughs. "Peter Parker... I had no idea."

"I'm a man of many secrets." He winks to cover his embarrassment.

She takes his penis into her hand again, and murmurs low, "Then show me."

Carefully he removes the remains of her tights, all the while smoothing his hands across her bare skin. She's not sure she's going to be able to focus on what she's doing to him for much longer... and when his fingers slip below the elastic of her panties, she gives up with a moan.

"Take those off, too," she whispers.

He hooks his fingers around the sides and draws them slowly down her legs, even more carefully. He probably doesn't want a repeat of what happened with the tights. Her skirt is still on, hiked up around her waist, but at this point, she doesn't care if it stays or goes, as long as he keeps touching her.

His fingers tingle their way upward, across her ankles, calves, thighs -- when he reaches the tender skin between her legs, she opens for him with a sigh, closing her eyes.

Her sound seems to give him permission to explore. A finger trails around the contours of her labia, another dips into her opening and becomes slick with the wetness that has been slowly building since they began. The feeling of both at the same time makes her moan louder than she expects.

His fingers slide in and out now, his thumb circling her clitoris with steady strokes. She feels almost overwhelmed by sensation. No one else has ever touched or stroked her so intimately before -- no one other than herself. It's unbelievable how much better his fingers feel. Is it just the novelty of another person's touch? Or do those sticky fingers of Peter's have some special quality?

He is so quiet now, so focused, only lightly kissing her lips or her shoulders after she lets out an intense groan. She suddenly wonders if he is watching her the same way she did him. Her eyes flutter open to see.

His eyebrows are drawn down, his eyes focusing on what his hands are doing to her. His concentration is almost scientific. It's incredibly hot.

He notices then that she's watching him again, and he blushes a little. Then he moves his fingers in some unimaginable combination of speed, pressure and agility, and she cries out at the intensity of the pleasure.

Her hand snakes out from her side to grasp his penis, hard. "I don't think I can w--"

"No, Gwen, let me do this for you," he says, more assured than she's ever heard him outside the suit.

She relaxes her fingers in answer, but keeps them circled around his shaft. It's all she can do to keep them there as the waves of pleasure rise ever higher and finally crest. Gwen shouts out something unintelligible, and her thighs clamp down on his hand. He brings her down gently, stroking lightly to extend her orgasm as long as possible.

When she can think clearly again, her entire body goes limp, including her fingers, which release their grasp and thump to the blankets. "Oh my god... have you been practicing or something?"

"No," he says, and she can hear the grin in his voice without actually seeing it. "But these abilities give me a few unexpected benefits. I never played basketball before I pwned Flash..."

"And I bet you never trained with the circus before playing trapeze artist with biocable webbing, either." She snuggles up close to him, and takes hold of his penis again. "I wonder what other things you have a natural talent for..." She pumps her hand up and down slowly to bring him back to hardness. "Maybe you should get the condom now." She kisses him gently on the lips to punctuate her point.

Peter stills her hand with hers. "What's wrong?" she asks, unsure. Maybe he isn’t ready for this after all?

He won’t meet her eyes. His body is completely unmoving, as if his mind is elsewhere. She's only seen him do that when there was danger nearby. Gwen pulls back, more worried than unsure now. “Is there an emergency? A crime?”

"I--" He bites his lip, his eyes darting to look out her window.

"Peter," she says, raising up on one elbow, "if you need to go, I understand. We can continue this later."

"I-It’s not that. I _do_ need to go, but... it's not because of danger.” He shifts uncomfortably, and finally meets her eyes with an apologetic expression. What he says makes her bite her lip, embarrassed. 

"I don't have a condom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my best efforts, my Peter and Gwen insist on taking things this slowly! So... I guess another chapter will be coming to continue/finish the story. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reward for your patience in enduring such a long build-up for my little PWP, this final chapter is over twice as long. :)

Gwen raises an eyebrow. "Really?" she teases. "I thought every teenage boy carried a condom in their wallet just in case."

"I don't even carry a _wallet_ ," Peter shoots back, cutting his eyes toward the Spidey suit discarded on the floor. Then he sits up, moving back a couple of inches on the bed, and runs his hands through his hair. "Sorry..."

Feeling bad for teasing him, Gwen reaches out and slides a hand down his forearm. "That's okay. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

His smile lets her know he took no offense. "You don't have one either? Not in your bedside table? Not even a sample left over from health class?"

She shakes her head. "Confiscated."

"Your dad?" 

"My _mom_. My dad probably would have taken me to the drugstore himself -- as long as he approved of... the boy..." Her mouth goes dry then, the mood completely killed. Her father did _not_ approve. He had wanted nothing more than to have his daughter date a nice science major and stay out of his life of law enforcement and danger. But he should have known that she was too much like her father. 

Peter's eyes go distant. She's sure he's remembering the conversation on the rooftop, the one she'd only heard about secondhand. "Oh..." he says, his eyes dropping. "Maybe we shouldn't..." He starts to turn away.

She stops him with a hand. This conversation is going downhill fast. "No, Peter. He respected you. He would have come around, I know it." He doesn't look convinced, so she continues, "Besides, it doesn't matter what he said, what he made you promise. This is _my_ decision to make, and yours."

His eyes meet hers again, the ghost of a smile returning. "But still, there's no condom. It sort of looks like the decision is being made for us."

"Maybe..." She glances out the window. "Maybe not."

He follows her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Can't you, you know..." She scoots closer and lays a slow kiss on his cheek. "...swing out and get some? There’s a drugstore just around the corner."

He leans into the kiss, but then seems to realize what she’s asking. His eyebrows nearly climb into his hair. "In my costume?"

"No! I mean, you've got a change of clothes somewhere, right? You don't just swing into your bedroom in Queens dressed like that..."

"I keep them in a backpack." He grimaces. "Which I left on a rooftop halfway across town." 

"Well, then." Gwen stands up, all business, and walks to her closet. She throws on a sweatshirt over her skirt, and starts digging. "I must have something..." There's a couple of oversized T-shirts in there, some gym shorts that might do -- she briefly considers seeing if there's anything in her mom's closet, a few things of her dad's not packed away or given to Goodwill, but after the last topic of conversation... She looks harder.

She finally comes up with a stretched out T-shirt, an old chemical-stained lab coat and some baggy pink sweatpants. Tossing them to him on the bed, she says. "Try these."

He looks at the clothing dubiously. "You want me to go into the drugstore... looking like a homeless person?"

"Homeless people don't have sex?"

"They..." He shudders. "Ugh. Thanks for _that_ image."

She huffs. "Do you have a better suggestion?" She glances at the time -- if he hurries, he might be able to get to his backpack, get condoms, and return before her mom and the boys get home, but... 

"Yes." Instead of the castoffs she'd thrown him, he reaches for his suit on the floor, then smiles. "You go in to get them."

Gwen colors. "My mom gets all our prescriptions there."

"So?" he says, but before she can find something to throw at him, he adds, "Kidding!" He’s almost back into his suit -- faster than she can believe. She supposed the quick-changes are essentially to his whole secret-identity schtick, but she really misses the sight of all that muscled bare skin.

"I suppose there’s another one over on the corner of Church and Reade, where they don’t really know us..." Though it isn’t cold out, she throws a jacket on, shoves a twenty into the pocket and tucks her hair under a baseball cap, to help with the disguise. She stands there a moment more, musing. "Maybe I should put on some sunglasses, too?"

"Nah, don’t bother."

Suddenly she finds herself spinning toward him. He presses her against him so tightly that the suit feels like a mere formality. She swallows, then breathes out, "Why?"

He’s completely suited up now, mask and all. Opening her window one-handed, he explains, "They’ll only fall off on the way."

Then they are rushing through the air, speeding toward the drugstore as only Peter can. Though he has a firm hold on her, she almost loses the hat.

The first time they went swinging like this, just for fun, she had been in awe of the way they glided through the nighttime streets, buildings rushing by, lights blurring together like a kaleidoscope. This time, she focuses on the way his arm feels around her waist, the way his corded muscles move as he shoots out a line and smoothly changes direction into another swing. How his legs kick at the air with fluid grace and control. She remembers how those muscles felt under her hands... and sighs with impatience.

Peter turns his masked head toward her. "What's wrong?" The rushing wind and spandex distort his voice somewhat, but she can hear the concern.

"Just..." She moves her lips to the side of his head, and says in a low voice, "...eager to finish what we started."

She might be imagining it, but they start to move a lot faster.

He sets them down in an alley around the corner from the drugstore. She presses closer, sliding a hand down his firm ass. "I'll be just a minute," she murmurs with a goodbye squeeze, and walks away from him.

Behind her, Peter clears his throat. He says, "Hurry back..." and it’s almost a squeak.

She walks with quick steps around the corner, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Who knows which of her neighbors might be around? Or one of the beat cops who knew her father? She quickens her pace even further. 

She slips into the drugstore and takes the first aisle she sees. She has no idea where they keep the condoms... The health and body care section? Next to the pharmacy? She giggles to herself - with the baby care? She decides to wander the aisles in a logical zigzag pattern. She finds them, of all places, next to the beer, which embarrasses her more than the condoms do. A couple of college-aged guys start coming down the other end of the aisle, and she reaches out and grabs the most likely looking one with words like "extra strength" and "XL" stamped on the sides. After all, he is super-strong, and well, she doesn’t want to take any chances.

Keeping it by her side and mostly tucked under the edge of her jacket, she strides to the register. There’s a youngish woman on duty, thank god, she might have chickened out if a man had been there, an older man might have made her stop, drop and roll - right on out of there empty-handed.

It seems to take forever to pay for them, and to top it off, she hears the sound of sirens in the distance, getting closer. What if there’s a mugging nearby and one of the cops recognizes her? The woman, bless her, places the box into a small paper bag and doesn’t try to make small talk. She’s out on the street without hearing her cheery, "Shop again at Duane Reade!"

She sees the flashing lights of the police cars she had heard down Church St., but not in the same direction as the alley where she left Peter. She sighs with relief. Walking toward the alley entrance as quickly as possible, she turns in and...

He’s not there.

She looks up and down the alley. She can’t see him anywhere. There are fire escapes, leading up to upper floors, a couple of doors into the adjoining building. "Hey!" she calls in a loud whisper, avoiding saying either of Peter’s names. "I’m back!"

There’s no response.

A little further down, there _is_ a dumpster, and a pair of shoes sticking out from behind, but they are white and mud-spattered, not red and shiny. Who would be hanging out in an alley, alone? She walks the other way, breaking into a run after only a few steps.

And then she’s flying through the air again, borne above the rooftops in moments. "Sorry," he says, hugging her to him tightly. "I couldn’t just stay there, bored and looking suspicious."

She looks behind her at the flashing lights. "And I bet you found a way to keep yourself occupied."

He’s quiet for a moment. "Um..."

"That’s okay," she says, and she runs her hand down the front of his Spider-Man logo. "I like that in a superhero boyfriend." She’s more than ready to peel the suit off of him again, this time, a lot faster.

She can see her apartment building, and the floor where her family lives in the distance. The light is still on in her room; they’d left so quickly that she hadn’t thought to turn it off. But then she sees that _other_ lights in the apartment are also on.

"Crap!" she says, cringing into Peter. "My mom is home!"

Peter makes a sharp turn, and they land on the top of the building facing hers. He puts his hand on her shoulder. "Looks like the ol’ Parker Luck strikes again."

"What?" she says, distracted. How is she going to explain her window wide open, her lights on, and no one home? Gwen doesn’t even have her cell phone on her - it’s sitting in her purse on top of her desk. She tries to see through the sheer curtains - are they just getting home? It looks like her mother is taking off her coat and hanging it on the hooks by the front door. Maybe she can sneak back in and pretend like she was somewhere else in the apartment and didn’t hear them come home. She hates the subterfuge, but she’s gotten better at it the longer she’s been with Peter...

"It’s just I’m cursed with this bad luck. Something good happens, then something terrible comes along to mess it up. Happened even before I got the powers." He puts his arms around her shoulders. "Sorry. It just wasn’t meant to be, I guess."

"No!" she says, clenching her fists. "I refuse to accept that."

"But... how...?"

"If I could just get in there long enough to lock the door and turn off the light, she might think I’m asleep.." 

Without another word, Peter launches himself across the street. He lands on the side of her window, and shoots a couple of strands out through the opening. Her light goes out.

"Get my cell phone out of my purse, too!" she whisper-shouts, hoping enhanced hearing is part of the superpowers package. If her mom tries to call her, she can answer sleepily to continue the ruse.

He shoots another strand out and snags the purse. Then her window slides shut and he’s back across the street in seconds. Handing her the purse with a gallant bow, he says, "Your belongings, mademoiselle."

"Thank you, kind sir," she says with a smile. "New York City is lucky you use these powers for good, isn’t she?" 

"Tell that to the _Bugle_."

She sidles up to him again, and peels back the bottom of his mask. Pulling his head toward hers, she kisses him fiercely, not caring where they are. It’s dark, she tells herself, they can’t be seen from the street, and who is really looking out their windows at this time of night?

He turns his face slightly to speak around her kisses. "Not here. I know a better place..." 

He doesn’t replace the mask over his mouth, and she nestles into his neck as they take once again to the skies. He travels several blocks faster than anyone could, even birds, she suspects, and sets her down on top of the observation deck of the Woolworth Building, 58 floors up.

She’s never been up here before -- no one has in years. The observation deck has been closed to the public since before even her parents could remember. She turns in a slow circle, never removing her hands from around his neck. "Wow, what a view."

"It’s one of the places I go to think," he explains. "Plus, there’ll be no interruptions, no prying eyes..." He kisses her between each phrase.

She kisses him back. "...no place to lie down..." she points out.

"Hmm," he says. "I think I can fix that."

Using both wrists in tandem, he weaves a layer of webbing between two beams until it forms a makeshift hammock. "Cool," she says, fascinated. She steps up to it, and tests the give. "It will hold?"

"On my honor as the number _two_ science student at Midtown High," he says behind her.

Gwen turns into his arms and pulls him downward with her, onto the web hammock, her baseball cap tumbling to their feet.

As slowly as they had taken things in her bedroom, Gwen now wants Peter out of his clothes as quickly as possible. He seems to agree -- she pulls his top over his head, leaving the web shooters in place, as he slides down the zipper on her skirt. She grabs the edges of his pants and peels them down his hips, his erection springing free. She shrugs out of her jacket and sweatshirt and then there they are. He breathes heavily as he hovers over her, as ready to go as she is. It’s as if it’s been forever since they were at this point, and yet no time at all as well.

"Gwen," he sighs, looking down on her. "You’re so beautiful." He buries his head between her breasts, his hands coming up to cup them. He slides one knee between her thighs, and she opens them readily to him.

Her own fingers scrape through his hair, down his back and he groans, the vibration warm against her nipple. She trails her fingers down around his hips to take his penis in her hand again, thrilling at its smooth hardness. As she tightens around it, he suckles harder on her nipple, and it shoots a white bolt of desire through her.

She’s wet now, so wet that she can’t believe it, dipping the fingers of her other hand to coat them in her own secretions. She rubs them over the head of his penis, earning another groan. "Are you as ready as I am?"

In answer, he snags the small paper bag from her things with a strand of webbing, never removing his mouth from her skin. Then he places the box beside her, letting her take the lead. 

She’s only happy to oblige. "Lay beside me," she says, and as he does so, she opens the wrapper. She’s hoping that she hasn’t forgotten anything from health class. Holding his eyes the whole time, she pinches the bubble at the top and slowly rolls it over the head and down the shaft. It seems to fit, despite her lucky guess at the drugstore.

He starts to turn toward her, to mount her from above, but she stays him with a hand. "Let me," she says, and straddles his waist. Gwen’s done her homework. If she’s on top, she can control things better. Taking his penis in her hand, she guides it to her entrance and then slowly lowers herself onto him.

She gasps. It feels so different from a finger or two, either hers or his, and it fills her up so exquisitely than she keens lightly with pleasure. But before he can enter her fully, it stops. "I’m a v--" she starts to say, but he already knows.

"Me too, Gwen. We’ll take it slow." He rocks in and out of her gently, an inch at a time, pushing up against her hymen a little more with each thrust, until she feels something give. There’s a burst of pain, but she bites her lip and moves past it.

And now that they’re both moving freely, she lets out a low moan. It feels unbelievable, him inside her. She takes a moment to see how he’s doing. He lies there, mouth slightly open, face contorting with an odd sort of concentration. "God," he says, "Gwen..."

"Peter."

He looks up at her, moving above him. He places his hands on her knees and caresses his hands up her legs. His fingers find her clitoris, and he begins a counterpoint in rhythm to their movements.

She suddenly has to feel him up against her. Reaching down to encircle him in her arms, she pulls him up to a sitting position, devouring his mouth with hers. Her breasts rub against his chest, and the friction adds to the sweet ecstasy that just keeps building. She throws her head back, and cries out loudly. No one can hear them, no one can see them; her body locked with Peter’s she feels freer than she has ever felt in her life.

He grasps her arms then, stilling and groaning as he climaxes. She can feel him pulse within her, and his grip relaxes. She stays there on his lap, enjoying the feel of him filling her as he comes down. Matching her breathing to his, she smoothes her palms across his back in slow circles. 

When he speaks again, it’s a little ragged. "Gwen, did you...?" Did she come, he doesn’t say.

She shakes her head against his forehead. "No, but I did earlier, remember?"

He pulls back and frowns. "I can..." 

She stops his hand. "No. This feeling, just like this, is perfect."

She’s relieved when he doesn’t press the issue. "Okay." 

Pulling her down on top of him, he shifts to the side, keeping their bodies enjoined. They lay like that for several long minutes, the air slowly cooling atop their perch. She shivers slightly, and snuggles into him. He’s so warm -- she wonders idly if the superpowers make him run a little hotter than normal.

Without explaining what he's doing, he lifts one wrist and sprays a cocoon of webbing around them on three sides, blocking the wind. She feels safe, protected, loved. Her eyes slip closed, and she drifts off.

When she awakes, the sun is shining brightly behind her eyelids. Sitting up in a panic, she fumbles around for her clothes... but she finds that she is at home, in her own bed, in her favorite pajamas, no less. Peter is not beside her. She can’t remember coming home at all -- how soundly was she sleeping, anyway?

Shaking her head at herself, she turns to her bedside table to look at the clock, and a small box is beside it. _For Gwen_ , the note reads in Peter’s handwriting, _This was supposed to be for your birthday, but I couldn’t wait_. Her birthday isn’t for months -- she doesn’t even remember telling him the date. 

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. She drops the box into her lap in surprise. "Gwen?" her mother calls from the other side of the door, "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Mom," she calls, covering the box with her comforter.

Her mom opens the door (Peter must have unlocked it when he tucked her in) and pokes her head in. "I didn’t want to wake you last night when we came home." She nods over at Gwen’s desk, where books and papers are strewn across in disarray. "Were you studying for the SATs again?" 

Gwen shakes her head before realizing she is throwing away a perfectly good alibi. "No, I was... developing a hypothesis for... a science experiment." That doesn’t sound lame _at all_. She grimaces.

"On a weekend?" Her mother gives her a pitying look. "Oh, Gwendy. Take a break sometimes, okay? You should go out with your boyfriend today. See the city, do something fun."

"Yes, Mom," Gwen says, a broad smile growing on her face. "We promise to have as much fun as two science geeks can have on a Saturday."

Her mom nods, satisfied. "Good. Breakfast is in thirty minutes!" The door closes behind her.

Gwen pulls the box back from under the comforter and turns it in her hands. Lifting off the cover, she sees another note inside, which reads: _For the scientist who has (almost) everything. ♥, Peter_. The heart is red with Spider-eyes and webbing. "You dork," she whispers fondly. Nestled within is a pair of metal bands with a LED device and a trigger attached to each one. 

She gleefully straps them on; they fit perfectly. To herself, she says, "Oh, I think today is going to be _very_ fun."

**End.**


End file.
